


bells of ireland

by headscab



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 13:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15535035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headscab/pseuds/headscab
Summary: Draco has more than one secret.





	bells of ireland

**Author's Note:**

> this is sort of unfinished and i haven't read it over but i know that if i turn my laptop off now, that i might never write anything for this ever again so it's better to upload it now, slightly unfinished, than have it sit on my computer forever

Draco doesn’t remember when it started, not really. 

 

            When he had been given his mission, his task right before his sixth year at Hogwarts, he had been so afraid.  If Draco couldn’t kill Dumbledore, couldn’t create a plan so grand that it would shake the foundations of the wizarding world, then he wouldn’t keep his life.  He would be snuffed out easily, wiped away and forgotten. 

 

            The first few nights, he sobbed and sobbed.  His hands were so slim, so pale.  How could they commit murder?  How could he raise his wand and say the words, the Unspeakable words that would cause such a permanent reaction?  Draco knew what he ought to have thought.  A task specified from the Dark Lord, given directly to him.  It was monumental.  Most Death Eater’s dreamt of such a chance.  Most of the Death Eater’s in the Dark Lord’s inner circle had killed to get there, or paid some large amount of money, or both, like Draco’s own parents. 

 

            But Draco was afraid.  He was so afraid that it shook him to the very core of his being.

 

            He practiced in his room.  Held the wand up, facing himself in the mirror, mouthed the words.  In some corner of his mind, Draco prayed that a solution would pop up, that some other person like Snape would get the mission.  He studied Vanishing Cabinets.  From prior snooping in the secrets of Hogwarts, Draco knew that one was located in the Room of Requirement.  He had no actual idea if it worked, so he read every piece of literature he could get his hands on, trying to memorize every detail.  After all, if he failed, he would not return home. 

 

            Draco had nightmares.  It wasn’t so much out of his love of Dumbledore that he hesitated on, but the thought that he was capable of killing another human being.  And if Draco didn’t succeed, if he couldn’t wreak havoc in the halls of Hogwarts, the consequences would cost him his life.  The searing pain of being branded with the Dark Mark looped in his subconscious mind, screeching as Draco whispered the Killing Curse.  He heard Bellatrix’s horrible cackle, pictured her gleeful gaze as she cast _Crucio_ over and over again, standing above his crumpled form on the floor of the Dark Lord’s mansion.  Green light danced behind his eyelids.

 

            “You know what you must do,” Lucius Malfoy said at the platform leading to the Hogwarts Express.  He was partly in the shadows, concealing his identity just enough to be left alone.  He had no love in his expression, only the hard determination to push his son to success.  “We have high hopes for you, Draco.”

 

            As much as Draco would have liked to believe that the ‘ _we’_ was his father and mother, he knew that it meant the Dark Lord, and everyone who stood behind him.  The Vanishing Cabinet he had spotted in Borgin and Burkes was in his every other thought.  Draco had a plan.  Failure was not an option. 

 

            Draco boarded the train. 

 

            The knowledge that he held the Dark Mark under his clothing was heavy.  He held the weight of the Death Eater’s and the Dark Lord on his skin.  However, Draco grinned as he met his friends.  Some of them had been branded, some not.  But, momentarily pushing his deed to the back of his mind, Draco was comforted by the people around him.  They were all chosen, weren’t they?  The Dark Lord was attempting to do something _great._ Draco was a soldier on the right side of a war.  The doubt skirting across his mind as he considered this was ignored. 

 

            Draco was well aware of Potter hiding in his compartment as soon as the little shit stepped in.  The boy was not subtle, and Draco was used to the Invisibility Cloak by then.  Still, Draco spoke openly to Pansy, laughed with Goyle.  He had nothing to hide.  At the end of his sixth year, the Dark Lord would be without opposition.  The war would be in the Death Eater’s favor, and Draco would be rewarded handsomely for his bravery. 

 

            The familiar whistle of the train sounded, and it grinded to a halt. 

 

            “You all go ahead,” Draco said to his friends.  Pansy raised an eyebrow, tilting her head.  Draco motioned for her to leave.  “I have to grab my cloak.  I’ll be right there.” 

 

            “Sure,” she said, the suspicious gleam lingering in her eye.  She threw her arm around Blaise, turning to go.  “I’ll be back looking for you if you’re not at dinner.”

 

            Feigning a laugh, Draco responded, “It won’t take that long.”

 

            He slid the compartment door shut behind them.  Locked it.

 

            Humming to himself quietly, he shuffled towards his bag.  Potter was some mere inches away when Draco quickly whipped his wand out, casting the petrifying charm that knocked Potter clear off of the shelf and onto the ground.  He grunted in pain and surprise, unable to react or hide as the Invisibility Cloak was knocked clean off. 

 

            “Well, well, well,” Draco drawled.  “If there isn’t a rat hiding amongst my luggage.”

 

            The look in Potter’s eyes could kill. 

 

            Leaning down closer to his rival’s face, Draco whispered, “Leave me alone this year, Potter.  You don’t know what I’m capable of.”  Straightening up, he continued, “Dinner sounds quite lovely, doesn’t it?  I think I’ll head there now.  Have a nice nap!”

 

            With more force than necessary, Draco brought his polished shoe down on Potter’s face, breaking his nose with a sickening crunch.  Blood poured from the wound, and only for a second did Draco worry that Potter might drown in the thick liquid.  However, if the boy could survive everything that had been thrown at him since birth, it wouldn’t be a simple broken nose that would do him in.       

 

            Draco laughed at the thought, the Boy Who Lived dying of a broken nose, unlocked the compartment, and left, ready to join his friends at dinner. 

 

            If he coughed a few times, it went completely unnoticed by all.

 

 

            The next time Draco ran into Potter, it was outside the Room of Requirement. 

 

            They were both out past curfew, but Draco had been smart enough to cast a Disillusionment charm.  How Potter had found him, Draco had no idea, but he could see through that Invisibility Cloak almost every time. 

 

            Potter hadn’t figured out that Draco knew he was there.  In amusement, Draco walked in a perfectly straight line, mostly blended in with his surroundings, knowing that Potter would follow him closely behind.  In a flash of movement, Draco ducked into a corridor that he almost walked past.  He disarmed his charm, crouching low behind the wall.  Then, as Potter reached the opening, Draco burst out, smacking into him heavily.  The two of them fell to the floor, with Draco landing on top of Potter. 

 

            “Get off of me!” Potter snarled, his wand jamming into Draco’s thigh as Draco sat on Potter’s chest, pinning his arms down, for the most part.  The cloak was limp beneath them.  Draco thought for a second that he could see a crumpled piece of parchment sticking out under it, but quickly dismissed the thought.

 

            “Why are you following me?” Draco hissed, grabbing Potter’s shirt-front in both hands.  “Did my warning on the train not suffice?  Your nose does look much better.”

 

            “You _wish_ ,” Potter spat, wriggling around like a live-wire.  “Why don’t you get off of me and try to repeat it?” 

 

            “I think I rather like this position,” Draco responded, quickly drawing his wand and holding it to Potter’s face.  “Now why don’t you answer my question?  _Why are you following me?”_  

 

            Potter hawked a glob of spit right into Draco’s face.  Draco flinched as it hit him, sliding down his cheek, leaving a disgusting trail of saliva.  The momentary distraction was all that Potter needed to escape, quickly grabbing Draco’s shoulders and slamming him into the ground.

 

            Potter’s extensive Quidditch training showed as he successfully held Draco down without utilizing his entire body weight.  Even though Draco was a Seeker himself, he hadn’t gone through half the training the Gryffindor team had; instead, Draco preferred to practice exercises by himself in air.  Cursing their stature differences, Draco attempted to grab Potter’s shoulders to push him off, his wand getting loose in the scuffle.  However, Potter smacked Draco into the stones beneath them twice, _hard,_ making Draco’s teeth rattle. 

 

            “What are you planning?!” Potter growled, sitting heavily on Draco’s stomach for a moment, grabbing Draco’s flailing wrists and pinning them above his head.  “I know you’re up to something!”

 

            “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Draco panted.  He flexed his wrists, grimacing on Potter’s tight grip.  “If you don’t let me up right this instant, there’ll be consequences, you know!”

 

            “Can’t take it?” Potter asked.  “You pretentious baby.”

 

            Glaring up at Potter, Draco took notice of how his glasses had somehow come off and disappeared.  Both of them breathing hard, Potter looked ready to kill.  His hair was more disheveled than normal, and Draco dreaded to think what he himself must have looked like.  The green in Potter’s eyes made Draco’s stomach lurch as he thought of the Killing Curse, and for the first time since meeting Potter, Draco was afraid of him. 

 

            “ _What is going on here?”_       

 

            Potter and Draco flinched as Snape’s voice rang through the hall. 

 

            “Professor,” Draco gasped instantly.  “He’s trying to kill me!”

 

            Potter rolled off of Draco instantly, rooting around for his glasses and the cloak.  “That’s not true!  He attacked me first!”

 

            “I did not!  I was provoked!  He was following me around like a deranged maniac,” Draco explained quickly, struggling for a moment to stand, rubbing his raw wrists.

 

            Severus Snape regarded them with dark eyes, the tip of his wand lit with _Lumos._   Snape’s gaze seemed to bore into Draco’s skin, making Draco wildly uncomfortable and conscious of how the situation must have looked.  The professor simply glared at the two of them for a long pause before speaking.

 

            “ _Fifty_ points from Gryffindor, and the same from my own House.  Fighting in corridors like schoolchildren is _not tolerated_ at Hogwarts in any capacity, and you both should feel utterly ashamed,” Snape said quietly.  His tone was commanding and definite, and neither of the boys argued.  “Draco, I expect more from you.”

 

            The words settled like a stone in Draco’s chest, the implication beyond just a school skirmish.  “I’m sorry, Professor,” Draco murmured.

 

            “I’m not done,” Snape snapped.  “Two months of detention for the both of you.  Every Saturday, I expect you to be in my classroom at noon.  If either of you decide that you are above my punishment, then you will be promptly delivered to the Headmaster for expulsion.”

 

            “That’s not fair!” Potter exclaimed heatedly.  Draco glared at him, noticing that he had finally put his horrendously ugly glasses back on.  However, Draco couldn’t say he disagreed with Potter’s outburst.  “ _Malfoy_ is the one who-,”

 

            “ _Silence,”_ Snape ordered.  “Unless you want to be expelled right this moment.”

 

            Potter shut up.

 

            “This Saturday.  Noon.  Now, get out of my sight.”

 

            As Draco sulked off to the Slytherin dorms, he mulled over the situation in his mind.  Even though the school year had practically just started, he had to work on the Vanishing Cabinet as quickly as possible after discovering its damage.  The detention with Snape was a drawback that Draco couldn’t ignore.  Did Snape not know what the Dark Lord had tasked Draco with?  If Snape was impeding on Draco’s mission on purpose, that was something he couldn’t ignore.  The chance that Snape wanted the glory of killing Dumbledore to himself was about as likely. 

 

            Unfortunately, there was nothing Draco could do.  He would have to sneak back out on weeknights, and hope for the best. 

 

            As Draco walked in his dorm room, he rubbed his sore wrists.  There were already the telltale signs of fingerprint bruising surrounding them, perfect impressions of Potter’s grip.  Draco pictured the situation again; Potter above him, pinning his wrists above his head, glasses gone and messy hair amuck.  Draco’s stomach twisted.  He coughed as he got into bed, coughed so hard that his whole body shook. 

 

            ‘ _If that fucker got me sick_ ,’ Draco thought to himself, and that night, he didn’t dream about flashing green lights and a twisted laugh.  He dreamt of a different green, and hands around his wrists.

 

 

            Draco kept a close eye on Potter after that.

 

            He knew that it couldn’t be a coincidence that Potter somehow showed up wherever he went.  If Draco went out to the Quidditch field, Potter would be sitting in the bleachers.  If Draco was writing a Potions essay in the library, Potter was the next table over, pretending to concentrate on his own essay that Draco knew was still blank.  If Draco was in the Great Hall eating dinner, every time he glanced at the Gryffindor table, Potter was looking right back.

 

            Eventually, Draco went out of his way to go to places that Potter would have difficulty accessing.  He spent more time in the Slytherin common room, more time in the Room of Requirement.  He lingered in classrooms after class was dismissed, speaking to Flitwick or Snape about something or another, nothing that was important enough for another student to drop in on.  Without intending to, Draco spent a considerable amount of his day thinking about what Potter was thinking.  In his own personal defense, it seemed that Potter was doing the exact same.           

 

            Every so often, Draco was plagued with the coughs that he experienced the night of the tousle.  The usually happened during the detentions he had with the other boy.  Snape had reluctantly sent Draco to Pomphrey multiple times, where Draco just ended up using that time to go to the Room of Requirement instead.  As far as Draco was concerned, a cold wasn’t going to halt his plans any more than Snape had already done. 

 

            The detentions were uneventful.  The rivalry tension that seemed to follow Draco and Potter constantly didn’t disappear, but they both had a silent understanding that any action taken in front of Snape would be in poor favor, so they spent the time in the Defense classroom catching up on assignments.  Occasionally, Snape would have them chopping up potion's ingredients, or working on potions for other classes to use.  Draco became very good at creating Pepper Up for Snape’s own private stores, and a Calming Drought for McGonagall’s seven-year transfiguration class after too many spells went wrong.  Other times, Snape would have them clean the Defense classroom from top to bottom.  

 

            Still, Draco tried his best to keep the Room of Requirement away from Potter’s prying eyes.  No matter how terse the dance they did became, Draco had no real intention of allowing Potter to see what his true plan was. 

 

            The night of Slughorn’s party, Draco dressed nicer than he had in a while.  He had a different plan, one that he could possibly use as a fail-safe if the Vanishing Cabinet didn’t come to fruition.  He brought a poisoned bottle of wine that he had purchased from Hogsmeade as a gift, writing Dumbledore’s name on it.  The poison was incredibly potent, but untestable with magic, and completely tasteless and odorless.  While the party was in full-swing, Draco deposited the bottle on Slughorn’s gift table. 

 

            The decision to leave the bottle was larger than Draco had thought.  It took more out of him than he had considered it would.  The thought of Dumbledore drinking it, choking, dying, or someone else that was too stupid to read, all because of Draco’s actions.  It took Draco weeks to build himself up to it, through meticulous planning.  Even though Draco knew he shouldn’t have, he took comfort in knowing that the bottle would most likely be stored and forgotten about. 

 

            He planned to retreat instantly, but curiosity got the better of him.  Draco knew that Potter was somewhere in the same room.  Potter was in Slughorn’s inner circle, one of his favorite’s. 

 

            When Draco found him, Potter was hiding behind a curtain with another boy.  Draco recognized him hazily, recalling the face but not the name.  Certainly not a sixth year, but taller than Potter.  As he watched, the boy leaned over Potter, placing a hand on Potter’s shoulder.  Potter’s face was tilted up towards his, a frown on his lips.  The boy slowly raised his hand, brushing his thumb against Potter’s mouth. 

 

            A sick feeling hitting Draco’s stomach, and he quickly looked away.  He felt a cough bubbling in his throat.  As much as he tried to hold it in, he could only hide behind a throng of people as he burst into a violent fit.  The coughs shook his body, and for the first time, Draco felt something emerging from his throat.  In horror, tears leaking ever so slightly from the corners of his eyes, Draco spat something thin and slimy into his hand.  He closed his fist around it, swallowing thickly. 

 

He had to leave.  Draco started for the exit, thrusting his fist into his pocket.  As Draco turned, he thumped straight into Filch.

 

            Filch looked surprised for a moment, then triumphant.  “Where’s your invitation?”

 

            “I was just leaving,” Draco sneered.  The squib was filthy, as per usual, and smelled of urine.  “Get away from me.”

 

            Filch ignored the fact that Draco spoke.  Grabbing Draco’s arm in a vice-grip, Filch began to drag him through the party, right past the curtain that Potter was behind, just in time for Potter to emerge.  He looked troubled, then shocked as he saw Draco in Filch’s possession.  Draco had no time to react, instead focusing on where the _hell_ the squib thought he was taking him.

 

            “Unhand me,” Draco snarled, twisting in Filch’s grip.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t break loose without making a bigger scene than he was comfortable with.  They squeezed between a few people, lurching between partygoers.   

 

            “Professor!” Filch said happily, stopping so suddenly that Draco ran into his back.  “I caught the intruder!”

 

            To Draco’s abject horror, Slughorn stood in front of them, wearing an outfit that wouldn’t have been fashionable even twenty years ago.  He had a bit of food smeared on his cheek, and a glazed look in his eyes.  His cheeks were bright, cherry red.  Slughorn regarded them, then waved his goblet of what Draco assumed was alcohol around.  Some of the contents sloshed onto the floor, spilling on Draco’s shoes. 

 

            “Now, now,” Slughorn slurred.  He seemed to have difficulty thinking of what to say for a moment.  “It is a party!  The more, the merrier.  The Malfoy boy can stay if he like.”

 

            Filch looked disappointed, the bastard.  Ripping his arm out of Filch’s grip, Draco spat, “I believe that I’d like to leave.”

 

            As he turned, he ran into someone, _again._

 

            Huffing, Draco was about to pull out his wand and hex the person into oblivion.  He was reaching for his back pocket when Snape’s familiar voice spoke out.

 

            “I’ll escort Mister Malfoy back to his common room,” Snape said quietly, looking at Slughorn, ignoring Draco completely.  However, Slughorn had already disappeared, talking to a group of students with such enthusiasm it made Draco feel a bit sorry for them.  Snape’s lips tightened at the display, showing his displeasure for a split second.  “Come along, Draco.”

 

            Draco allowed Snape to lead him from the party up until they reached an empty hallway.  Luckily, he didn’t spot Potter along the way.  Then, he was about to speak, when Snape whipped around and hauled Draco up against the wall.  Snape’s grip was tight enough to partially lift Draco up, and Draco thought, ‘ _How the hell do I keep ending up in this kind of situation?’_

 

            “ _What is your plan?”_ Snape hissed, face mere inches from Draco’s own.  His eyes were desperate, searching.  In that moment, Draco realized that Snape knew all about his task.  Snape had been keeping Draco in detention to keep him from his mission, to keep him from succeeding.  Snape was fully and completely aware of what Draco was doing, and he wanted to interfere. 

 

            “Wouldn’t you like to know,” Draco spat, betrayed.  He was certain now that his earlier suspicions were true.  “You’d like to steal all the glory, wouldn’t you?”

 

            Snape’s grip went slack, Draco falling to the floor.  He took a step back, long hair parting like a curtain. Confusion was evident on his face.  “Is that what you think this is?”

 

            “It’s what I know,” Draco said viciously.  “You can’t stand someone else having the Dark Lord’s praise, right?  This is _my_ mission!” 

 

            “Draco,” Snape said softly.  His expression became open, honest.  Draco knew it was a trap.  “I made an Unspeakable Vow with your mother to help you.  Please, let me.”

 

            “ _I can do this on my own!”_ Draco shouted.  The noise bumped off the corridor walls, but Draco had already begun to make his escape, sprinting past the surprised Snape.  He only slowed when he was near the Room of Requirement, pacing in front of the door three times like he had learned.  The adrenaline was pumping so hard that he started to shake.  When the door opened, he flew inside and slammed it shut behind him.  It shut with a heavy thud that Draco felt through his entire body.  Ignoring the Vanishing Cabinet, Draco walked into the room. 

 

            Only when Draco was deep inside of the space did he allow himself to let go.  His heart was racing.  He was breathing heavily, both from running and from the tension of what just happened.  Was Snape trying to steal his mission, trying to get Draco to fail?  Did he want Draco to die? 

 

            Draco realized something.  He really, really didn’t want to die.

 

            Draco wanted to live.  He wanted this stupid war to be over.  He wanted to be able to be with his friends, to tell them everything and have them understand and support him.  He wanted to know that he would be alive for his seventh year, that he could have a career and live as an adult.  If Draco failed, it wouldn’t be just him that would be punished, either.  His father would probably be killed, too.  His mother.  Draco tried desperately to keep the image of the Dark Lord casting the Killing Curse towards his mother out of his mind. 

 

            Without being fully aware, Draco was sobbing heavily.  He sat on an old couch, folding in on himself and hugging his knees while he cried and his chest heaved.  Snot ran down his nose and onto his clothes.  What was he doing?  Draco had dressed up, had put on his best clothes to go and sneak into a party to plant poison, with the full intent of murder. 

 

            Mind racing, Draco cried for a long time.  Every time he slowed down, his mind conjured the lifeless bodies of his parents on the floor of the Dark Lord’s home, blood slowly dripping in between the wood planks. 

 

            He could not fail the mission.  No more distractions. 

 

            However, Snape’s offer lingered on his mind.  It would be so _easy_ if Snape could step in, could give Draco the nudge he needed.  Perhaps Snape could be the one to cast the curse, to get Dumbledore to drink the poison, and would tell the Dark Lord that it had been Draco that completed the deed.  Nobody would be the wiser.  Draco wouldn’t be a murderer, and he would escape the situation with his life, and the safety of his parents.

 

            But that thought was just a pipe dream.  It wasn’t realistic.  Draco knew, deep down, that this was something he had to do alone.  And it was driving him insane.

 

            After he had calmed down some, Draco sat in the silence.  His eyes and throat burned.  He remembered suddenly the coughing he experienced earlier, the object he spat up.  Draco reached slowly into his pocket, pulling out something that fit perfectly in his palm.  As he held it up to the light, he exhaled in shaky disbelief.

 

            In Draco’s open palm sat one perfectly formed flower from the Bells of Ireland. 

 

 

           

            It took Pansy less than a week to realize that something was off about her friend.

 

            It wasn’t just that Draco had gone awfully quiet, brooding most of the time instead of engaging like he used to.  He seemed to cough more and more, carrying around a handkerchief that he attempted to hide.  He was wary of Snape, and his eyes followed Potter like he was haunted.  Blaise had quietly told her that Draco had begun casting Silence Charms around his curtains at night.

 

            Draco knew that Pansy was suspicious.  He reassured her every time she asked if something was wrong.  He couldn’t afford anymore setbacks, anymore chances on his plans.  However, she still pestered him.

 

            “Are you sure you’re doing alright?” Pansy murmured into his ear at the Great Hall.  Draco was staring down listlessly at his food. 

 

            “Yes,” he said softly, briefly locking eyes with her before turning his gaze to the Gryffindor table.  Directly across the room sat Potter.  When their eyes met, Draco’s stomach twisted and he felt the familiar tickle in the back of his throat.  Unbeknownst to everyone else, his handkerchief was full of flowers from the Bells of Ireland.  All green, all perfectly formed, and some with the stem still attached.  Every day, it got slightly worse. 

 

            Potter seemed to have figured out that Draco was avoiding him with purpose.  That only encouraged him to try harder, to search for Draco even more.  Without meaning to, Draco had the stray thought, ‘ _It would be nice if he could save me, too’._ In his dreams, the new horror of his dead parents haunted him, and he woke up screaming more than once.  Fortunately, he had the clarity of mind to cast the charms around his bed that prevented his roommates from hearing or seeing one of his episodes.  However, the worst part about the dream wasn’t the ghastly sight that often lingered on his mind. 

 

            The absolute worst part was when the dream changed, and it was the night that Draco had first seen Potter outside of the Room of Requirement.  Instead of holding Draco down out of anger, Potter was looking down at Draco with affection, with soft eyes and sympathy that left Draco gasping more than any physical fight ever could.  Potter’s grip was still hard enough to bruise, but he brought Draco’s wrist up to his mouth and pressed his lips against the fingerprints.  The green in Potter’s eyes was all Draco could see, and every single memory of his mission and the Killing Curse melted into Potter’s gaze. 

 

            The whole situation was so incredibly fucked up that Draco wanted to laugh. 

 

            Of course, Potter had no idea.  As far as Draco knew, Potter was gallivanting around with every other guy in Hogwarts.  Or perhaps Draco misread the situation at Slughorn’s party, and Potter was straight and dating the small Weasel girl that seemed to hang around him at every chance she got. 

 

            The thought of Potter with the Weasel made Draco’s heart twinge in a way that he loathed with his entire being, and he coughed so hard that he almost didn’t have enough time to catch the flower in his handkerchief.  He slipped it into his pocket, embarrassed and ashamed. 

 

            He had searched the symptoms as best as he could.  It wasn’t a curse that he could cure.  In fact, it wasn’t something that anyone could cure.  The _Hanahaki_ was fatal to everyone that contracted it.  It was so ironic that Draco laughed the first time he realized that he was going to die from flowers slowly crushing his lungs.  What was the point in being scared over what the Dark Lord would to do him if he was going to die a painful death anyway? 

 

            Draco didn’t know that he entirely _loved_ Potter anyway.  It had really started with the dream.  Then, Draco focused on Potter’s eyes more, how they caught the light and squinted when Potter was laughing.  Draco saw the way Potter seemed to help just about everyone he met, including picking up Loony Lovegood’s books when she dropped them in the hallway.  Draco saw how dedicated Potter was to everything and everyone he loved.  Slowly, Draco realized he wanted that dedication, that affection, to focus on _him._

            Draco wanted the Savior to save him.

 

            It was foolish. 

 

            And Draco still had to complete his mission.  Not for himself.  But for his family. 

 

 

            Draco had no idea when Potter walked in the bathroom. 

 

            He had realized that his time was up.  It was nearing the end of the year, and he almost had the Vanishing Cabinet fixed.  The poison had been given to the stupid boy Weasel that followed Potter around like a lost dog, and unfortunately, he had survived.  Dumbledore had not drunk a single drop.  Draco realized that he was forced to do the plan that he hated the most. 

 

The Vanishing Cabinet in Borgin and Burkes was ready.  All Draco had to do was send the signal as soon as the cabinet on his end was fixed.  He had stalled as much as he could, held off as much as he could.  It wasn’t enough, and the Dark Lord was angry and impatient.  If Draco really wanted no harm to befall his parents, he had to give the signal within the next week. 

 

            Draco’s _Hanahaki_ had increased to the point where he was pulling out full stems, littered with multiple bells and flowers, out of his throat.  It burned and scratched and he bled every single time.  Potter hadn’t noticed, luckily for Draco.  Draco wanted the secret of his disease to take him to his grave.  He had accepted that he was dying.  Draco knew that there was no cure, that there was nothing that he could do to prevent his fate.  His curse of _love_ was going to kill him, and judging by how bad his disease had gotten, he estimated that it would happen around the time that he had to open the Vanishing Cabinet, and become a murderer. 

 

Watching Potter from afar made every day painful, and combined with the knowledge that his time was _up,_ was too much. 

 

            Sobbing, heaving, shaking, Draco stood at the bathroom mirror.  He cried loudly, mourning his life and everything that he wanted.  His eyes were screwed shut, his fingers white-knuckled on the sink basin.  His shirt was stuck flush to his body in a cold sweat.  The only movement Draco could manage was rocking back and forth ever so slightly as he shuddered and shook. 

 

            Tears dripped down his face, blinding him, but he still heard a soft gasp as someone entered the restroom and saw him.  Hurriedly, Draco swiped at his face, trying to clear his eyes with his shirt sleeve. 

 

            As he blinked, he saw Harry Potter standing at the door, staring at him in disbelief. 

 

            “Malfoy?” Potter asked hesitantly. 

 

            Potter’s voice sprung Draco into action.  There was no way that Draco could allow Potter to see him like _that._   Defeated, disgusting, sobbing over how pathetic his life had become.  Draco pulled his wand, not thinking as he held it, hand shaking.  All of his spells fled his mind except for one.

 

            “ _Obscuro!”_ Draco shouted.  Instantly, a blindfold appeared over Potter’s eyes.  Potter stumbled a bit, pulling out his own wand.

 

            “ _Incarcerous!”_ Potter yelled, pointing his wand in the relative direction of Draco.  The magical ropes that shot from his wand fell into empty air.  Draco breathed a small sigh of relief, and started to run to the door, around Potter.

 

            However, before he could get far, a rope snaked around his ankle and yanked him to the ground.  Draco yelped, panting heavily and kicking at it.  It snaked further up his leg and wrapped his legs together, immobilizing him. 

 

            Quickly grabbing his wand, Draco pointed it at Potter again.  Maybe if Draco put Potter to sleep, the ropes would disappear.  He started thinking of the spell, mind still dark and fuzzy, but Potter had worked the blindfold off, and saw Draco raising his wand.

 

            “ _Expelliarmus!”_ Potter said, and Draco’s wand went flying. 

 

            The ropes worked faster, pinning Draco’s arms to his side and leaving only his head with free range of movement.  Draco cried out, attempting to shake them off, but they tightened with his every move, until he went completely still, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

            “ _What the fuck!”_ Potter shouted, pacing around somewhere behind Draco.  “Why did you attack me?”

 

            Draco clenched his teeth.  He wanted to say, ‘ _I didn’t attack you, you_ oaf’, but he stayed silent.  Potter wandered over in front of Draco, looked down at him even though Draco’s eyes stayed firmly shut.  Draco’s ears were ringing.  He wondered how he must look right then; he was tied up completely, covered in sweat, tears staining his face.  Potter must think him disgusting. 

 

            “What were you doing?” Potter asked slowly.  He sounded slightly concerned, but Draco knew he was faking it.  Nobody could even attempt to care for Draco.  Not when he was destined to be a killer.

 

            “Leave me be,” Draco said quietly.  He wasn’t about to beg for the ropes to disappear.  He had some self-respect left.  And if Potter thought Draco was about to spill his secret to him, then he was crazier than Draco originally thought.

 

            “Malfoy-,” Potter started, but was interrupted when Draco felt a flower trying to force its way out of his throat.

 

            _‘Not now,’_ Draco thought desperately.  _‘Please not now’._

 

            He hacked and coughed, struggling against the ropes, which made them bind him tighter.  He couldn’t breathe.  Draco felt the petals on the inside of his throat, felt the blood as the stems scratched and tore his throat.  A drop of blood hit the tile beneath him, and Draco began to gasp for breath as the ropes tightened even more.  The bare skin under the ropes started to blister under the squeezing.

 

            Rough hands suddenly grabbed him, twisting him about and yanking on the ropes.  Potter was muttering something, a severing charm to cut the binds holding Draco down. Draco wanted to scream.  Was the Savior really attempting to save Draco’s life?  That was what Draco wanted all along, right? Or did it not count, if Potter was the one about to kill him in the first place?

 

            Finally, the ropes fell away and Draco instantly curled up, reaching into the back of his mouth to yank on a stem.  He felt Potter’s eyes on him as the Bells of Ireland emerged in all their green glory, spotted in blood and spit.  Draco yanked it out so fast that his vision blacked out and blood splattered the bathroom tiles.  He gasped for breath, dropping the flower on the floor to heave, to try and inhale.  Slowly, he started to breathe. 

 

            “Is that…a flower?” Potter asked, going to pick it up.

 

            Draco’s hand shot out, wrapping around Potter’s wrist and holding it away from the flower.  He didn’t know why, but seeing Potter touch Draco’s flowers would be so heart-wrenching, so painful that Draco couldn’t watch it happen.

 

            “Please,” Draco said hoarsely.  “Please don’t touch it.”

 

            “It looks like the Bells of Ireland,” Potter said in wonder.  “Did you cough this up?  Is this what you’ve been sick with?”

 

            “I’m not sick,” Draco snapped.  In a rush, he said, “I’m not…I’m _dying_.  I’m just dying.”

 

            Potter went perfectly still.  Draco’s hand was still wrapped around his wrist, and Draco could feel the pulse beneath Potter’s skin.  It was increasing, beating faster.  The dim lights flickered overhead.

 

            “You’re dying?” Potter asked quietly. 

 

            “Yes,” Draco whispered.  He stared at the flower, avoiding Potter’s face.  “Though, I’m not sure why you’d care.”

 

            Potter went silent.  He didn’t say a single word, as if he were waiting for permission to speak.  He was still kneeling by Draco, still half-leaning over him from cutting the ropes.  He smelled like sweat and cinnamon and sunshine, and it was horrible how much Draco liked it.  They were so close that Draco could feel Potter’s body heat, and for a second, Draco could almost pretend that Potter was _concerned_ for him, that Potter _cared_ , and wanted nothing more than to scoop Draco up and hold him in his arms.  That maybe, Potter wanted to shine his Savior light on Draco.  That Potter could look Draco in his eyes, and that the green could take everything bad away.

 

            Slowly, Potter moved his hand up, sliding it over Draco’s skin.  It hovered above Draco’s fingers.  Draco stared as Potter bumped his index finger against Draco’s, then slid his palm into Draco’s hand, and took hold.  Their fingers interlaced. 

 

            “I care,” Potter said softly.  “Of course, I care.” 

 

            And Draco broke. 


End file.
